


Circus 1912

by Toryb



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1910s, Alternate Universe - Circus, Bughead centric + other B plots, Everyone tries their best but sometimes they don't succeed, F/M, Familial Relationships, Jughead Jones goes on a quest to figure out who he is, Multi, OT3: Sweetvarchie, Ring Master FP Jones, Slow Burn, The Greatest Showman Inspired
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-02-27 09:55:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13245774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toryb/pseuds/Toryb
Summary: Fortunate favors the brave, and never helps a man who does not help himself- PT Barnum-or-The year is 1912. The blinding lights from the big top draw in a crowd intoxicated by the oddities within those red and white canvas walls. FP Jones stands center stage as his son waits in the wings with baited breath. From the tip of the tent to the cane in his father's hand: one day this life will belong to Jughead. It's a city of runaways, vandals, and societal outcasts. It's a world he grew up in. Before he can dwell too long on his thoughts, a voice like a crack of lightening cuts through the crowd."Ladies and gentlemen! Boys and girls of all shapes and sizes. I welcome you, one and all, to the greatest show on earth."





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Gosh I have to say right now so bear with me. First things first I'm super excited to be writing this. I'm a bit like going out on a limb truthfully since a circus au could either be loved or hated. And I'm trying to write a bit differently than my normal style (still going to be very me) so I'm excited and nervous about that.
> 
> 1) Shout out to @elegantmoonchild for the creation of SweetVee. I love that. In this fic things are going to be a bit different though and as someone who normally ships Varchie, i wanted to see what would happen if I had Veronica date them both. So introducing OT3: Sweetvarchie
> 
> 2) This fic is MAINLY a Bughead fic. This story is Jughead's first and foremost, however many of the characters have their own massive B plots they'll be tackling along the way. Especially Falice and Sweetvarchie, which is why they're put as pairings up there as well.
> 
> 3) This fic is going to be a much slower update than Smoke and Glitter (which i update around once every four days). This is because it takes me a lot longer to write these chapters (this chapter alone is around 11 pages).
> 
> 4) First chapter is going to be a lot more spread out than the following ones! I just wanted to introduce everyone and get a feel for the universe. The following chapters will all be set within 1912 as is the name given.
> 
> 5) Shout out to all of you who listened to me ramble about this fic. @jinglejanglejones, @omgbarbiegurl, @bughead-is-riverdale, @allthingsbughead (for being a true beta).
> 
> I really really hope you guys enjoy. I'm super open to feedback about this one and I love all of you! <3

_ To me there is no picture so beautiful as smiling, bright-eyed, happy children; no music so sweet as their clear and ringing laughter. - PT Barnum _

 

_ Jughead and Archie-1904 _

“Ladies and gentlemen! Boys and girls of all shapes and sizes,” the ring master’s booming voice cut through the exuberant crowd, hushing them all with a single wave of his hand, “I welcome you, one and all, to the greatest show on earth.”

Hidden away in the darkness of the red and white striped tarps of the circus tent, Jughead Jones watched his father with blue wide eyes. With quick wit, charm, and a cane in his hand - no one could sell an act quite like FP Jones. Were his stage any bigger he might have just lead the world.

The curtains pulled back as the lumbering grey beasts emerged front and center. The audience’s cheers were like a deafening thunder for a little boy no more than ten. It was like he was drowning. A deep seeded part of him wanted more, wanted to be where the ringmaster was, absorbing the bright show lights. A cacophonous melody of approval - he knew it was what his father lived for.

“Wow,” the redheaded boy beside him whispered, “You get to see this every night?”

Jughead nodded and turned back towards his best friend. “Yeah. I get to feed the elephants sometimes too. They really like the peanuts.”

Sitting atop two wooden crates, the young boys shared a quiet laugh. As the elephants circled the tent, petite young girls in brilliant shades of red, blue, and orange dancing on their seats, FP joined them backstage. He picked up his son with practiced ease. Despite Jughead’s squirming, he planted a kiss on either of his cheeks before setting him back down.

“So what do you boys think so far?”

The familiar scent of whiskey perforated the air. Intoxication and applause - his father’s two addictions. Nothing was ever simple with the Jones boys. No simple life. No simple pleasures. Every inch of their lives was saturated in the thick circus atmosphere. Archie Andrews, on the other hand, looked on at the spectacle before him with bright new eyes. He was the son of the other half of The Andrews-Jones Traveling Circus and had not, before tonight, stepped foot into the big top. Fred preferred to stay back and watch. He balanced checks, crunched numbers, while his counterpart wooed with banks with ideas of the macabre.

The woman on the tightrope lept high into the air, landing with the umbrella still open between her feet, hands balancing the entire weight of her frame. In his little grey house on the outskirts of New York City, where mice were the only grey animals he saw, even his wildest fantasies could not have dreamed up the bursting technicolors before him.

“It’s amazing,” Archie answered. 

“Don’t forget to tell your dad that one tonight when I drop you off. I’ve got to get back out there. Play nice with the talent. Thanks for keeping an eye on them Tall Boy.”

The monicure of “Tall Boy” certainly fit the lumbering man beside them. He was impossibly long, balancing on his wooden legs with ease. Even the smallest oddities excited Archie tonight. It was hard not to be jealous of his friend, who lived in this fantasy world every day and night.

As the show reached it’s grand finale, FP stood panting before the crowd, sweat beads on his brow. In these moments there was no need for a bottle in his hand. He was not a tailor’s boy who had crawled his way up from dirt, but instead the greatest showman alive. Men who had once deliberately turned their gaze from him looked on with wonder. It was an impossible high that even the strongest of whiskey could not take him to.

Fred met them outside the tent, arm in arm with his wife Mary. Archie greeted his parents with a hug. The two partners shook hands and sent their boys off to play before they talked business. As any children do when they’re told not to listen, they hid behind the water barrels kept on hand in case any fires got out of hand.

“Can you hear them?” Archie asked, peeking over his shorter friend’s fluffy black curls.

“If you shut up then maybe.”

There was a quick exchange of pleasantries. The weather. The ticket sales that night. Whatever relationship which has caused FP and Fred to go into business together had fizzled out over the years. Any love was love lost. Business talk was boring and quickly the boy’s short attention was drawn to something else. 

As the lights dimmed and the circus had it’s steady breakdown, the magic all around them began to fade. Lion tamers helped their animals back into cages. The 400 pound man removed the pillows stuffed into his trousers. Tiny Napoleon helped Aquatic Woman strip away the fins stuck to her legs. Tomorrow would bring an all new city and all new folks to fool.

“Is anything real?”

Jughead thought about Archie’s question for a moment before nodding. “Those people helping each other is real. There’s something strange about a person willing to leave their home to travel and be called a freak don’t you think? Dad says there’s something wrong with making them a little freakier to make people laugh. Napoleon is short, A.W actually has scales, and Tall Boy is really tall, even without the stilts. And my dad…I think his magic is real. I don’t know how he does it. I’d be scared in front of all those people.”

As scary as it was, the prospect of one day being the ringmaster was intriguing. Would he be able to get the same response FP did? Would the crowd cheer for him? Would he be bathed in love for a single dazzling moment? Would anyone watch him the same way he watched his father?

His thoughts were broken by Archie’s tight grasp on his shoulder. Jughead followed his line of sight back to their parents. Their pleasant (albeit strained) conversation had devolved into whispered arguments. The boys leaned closer to catch the tail end of Fred’s frustration.

“He is not coming with you, FP. Archie’s going to stay here with us and learn my half of the trade. You’re already messing up Jughead with all this moving. You really think this is the safest place to raise a child?”

“What I do with my boy isn’t any of your concern, Andrews,” FP snapped, eyes an inferno. “I already agreed to let Forsythia stay with you until she’s old enough to come with me. Jug’s staying here to learn my trade.”

Mary spoke up, “She’s a little girl. She needs a feminine influence. And one without scales. It’s for the best she’s coming to live with us.”

Jughead’s heart sank. From the darkest recesses of his mind came creeping the bitter memories of the nightly arguments his parents shared. Gladys Jones had run away two years ago, in the dead of night without a word to either of her children. The night before she had said her husband’s circus life would drive the world away from him; his hunger for more would be the start of his spiral. Now that world was taking his sister away from him. Without those bright blue eyes watching out the caravan windows at the passing stars carved out of the dark black night sky the world would be much duller.

“I wish I could come with you,” Archie whispered. “Everything is so exciting here. At home it’s just...nothing. But I promise I’ll take good care of Jellybean. I’ll make sure she writes lots of letters to you.”

“Thanks Arch.”

But there was no hiding the disappointment on both their faces when their parents came to take them away. For Archie: the circus was a dream come true. For Jughead: it was a living nightmare.

* * *

 

_ Alice and Betty -1906 _

Alice Cooper was tired of begging on the streets. It was not a life that suited her well, but ever since the untimely death of her husband Hal, she had to make do with what she could. He had left behind three young children (Chic, Polly, and Betty) for her to feed with little money left behind. His crazy schemes had been bleeding their connections at the bank dry and it seemed these days the busy people of New York City had nothing to spare for a hard on her luck widow.

Exiting her third failed job interview of the day, with her caravan of children behind her, her mind began to race. Chic had offered to join the railroad - send back money whenever he could to keep his family afloat. But that was dangerous work. She had lost her husband already. The very thought of receiving another notice of death left her heart beating out of its chest.

“Mom look!” Betty pointed to the sign hanging from the pub wall. Framed gold lettering leapt off the page:

ANDREW-JONES TRAVELING CIRCUS

ODDITIES WANTED

TALENTED INDIVIDUALS NEED ONLY APPLY

COME TO THE DOCKS BETWEEN SUN UP AND SUN DOWN

WE WELCOME NEARLY ALL TO OUR CELEBRATION OF THE UNIQUE

Celebration of the unique? So that was what FP was calling his tricks these days. It was hard not to wonder what that bright eyed boy was up to now. Before she’d fallen into bed with Hal, Alice had spent many nights in the arms of a handsome roguish Jones, listening intently as he rattled off his latest plans. Together they peddled the streets. Her pretty face and his deft hands made fat wallets quick pickings. Had her mother not severed their young love so early on, she might have married that clever young boy.

“Didn’t you say you were a snake charmer?” Polly asked, hopeful. This could be their ticket out of debt. No more scrounging the streets in hopes that an apple had fallen off a food wagon on its way to the market.

“It’s been a long time. Besides, what kind of mother would I be if I left you three all alone to fend for yourselves? I won’t allow it.”

Chic spoke up, “You won’t have to. Remember how dad taught us some of his acrobatics? We could use that. We could come with you.”

Charming snakes herself was one things, but it had Hal’s clumsiness on a tightline that had snapped his neck and cost him his life. To risk her children like that was terrifying. But time was ticking on and she had no better prospects but to grovel at the man she’d scorned the love of and beg for help.

“Okay. Betty take the flyer and stay close beside me. FP Jones is a man who likes to be surprised. I think if I show up it will certainly have that effect.”

The docks were crowded with men, women, and children from every walk of life; a line snaked around the busy day workers. Alice walked on straight past them. She paid no mind to the countless people who had been there since the early rising sun. He would see her now or he would never see her again.

Betty did not notice the man with the tall hat first, but instead the smaller boy around her age that stood beside him, watching as little boxes were marked in a ledger. His hair was inky and black and his eyes grew wide and curious as they made their swift approach. He turned and whispered something to the ledger man. Betty suspected it must have been FP Jones himself making notes in the little black book. When her mother set her things on his table with a thud that resonated against the wooden ships, he didn’t even look up.

“Alice Cooper. To what do I owe the pleasure?” his voice was dry and cracked, a cat like grin slowly creeping along his features as he at finally lifted his gaze up to them.

“I’m sure you heard about Hal’s unfortunate end. I know you keep your ears open. Well he didn’t leave much and I need something to support my family. I need you so.”

His laughter was so loud it startled Betty and she jumped to hide behind her mother. “Is that so, Ali? You always did have a way of charming snakes.” His words carried a weight she didn’t quite comprehend, but looking at the way her mother’s features controtered, she suspected it wasn’t good. “What about your kids? Do they have a place to stay?”

“They won’t need one here. They’re coming with us.”

“I’m not so sure about that. I’ll take them in but room and board with us wouldn’t be cheap. You could always leave them with your  _ mother. _ ” 

Alice had not spoken to her mother in seven years. Ever since Hal had quit his lucrative job at the newspaper to chase after his dream of acrobatics there wasn’t much she could offer her in terms of social ladder climbing. Without an exchange of powers, her daughters place in her life became obsolete. There were some days Alice resented the woman. There were many more where she wished a train would collide into the side of the demon’s Parisian home.

Whatever love she might have had for her was not shared by FP Jones. Even his gaze was not pitying, but bitter. Their split had been far from amicable - both parties left shattered.

Before Alice said something they all regretted, Polly intercepted. “We’re acrobats Mr. Jones. The three of us. We could put on a really good act for you. We’re young, flexible, and willing to give it our all.”

“We’ll even show you,” Chic added, “If you give us the chance.”

“Acrobats? We don’t have many of those. Alright kids you’ve intrigued me. Get ready to impress a man who’s seen it all. Jughead, show them where they can get ready.”

The boy Betty had been eying earlier nodded. He looked remarkably like Mr. Jones, and she suspected they might be father and son. If that was the case, she knew it would be in her best interest to impress him as well. One day he would inherit the spectacle show.

Jughead was quiet as he showed them around the rented plot of land. It was a maze of brightly colored circus tents. Everywhere she looked there was something else to distract her. Had it not been for Chic’s steady hand on her arm, she likely would have gotten lost amongst all the excitement.

“This is the practice tent,” the dark haired boy opened the tent for them to enter.

The young Coopers worked quickly to change and began their warm ups. It had been a long time since Betty had dared step foot on such a high ledge. Up, up, up, the ladder appeared like it would never end. She stood at the bottom, eyes wide and hands shaking. Polly fell from tightrope, landing with a whoosh of air in the net below. Chic swung from the bars with ease. He was a man of natural boyish talent. But Betty was not as daring as her sister or as polished as her brother. A large lump swelled in her throat.

This was not a moment to second guess. Without this opportunity there was nowhere else for their family to go. Whatever world her mother had left behind in FP they were re-entering now, despite all of Alice’s apprehension and worries. Betty reached out and took one wooden rung in her hand.

“Are you scared?” Jughead asked.

She startled, nearly falling back. “I…I’m not….”

“I think everyone gets scared. Up there. Down here. Fear’s a natural part of life. If you weren’t scared I would think you were crazy.”

The smile he gave her made Betty’s little heart flutter, though whether that was him or the butterfly of nerves she was unsure. “Thank you...Jughead your name was?”

“Yeah. Please call me that. And you’re Betty?”

“Betty,” she confirmed.

With a new found confidence she began her slow climb. From the top of the ladder she could see it all: the sawdust scattered across the floor, the flicker of the floor lights, the black mess of curls. She felt her legs shake as the world threatened to tumble out from underneath her. 

“Are you okay?” Jughead called up to her.

Betty swallowed, tightening her hands until her nails bit into the sensitive skin of her palms. “What if I fall?”

“Then I guess I’ll have to catch you.”

Without a second thought, she leapt.

* * *

 

_ Toni/Fangs/Sweet Pea-1909 _

Growing up on the streets of New York, Toni was used to scrounging in trash cans and picking pockets for money. When Fangs and Sweet Pea came into the mix life got easier for a minute. The three of them had a pattern. She would lure a fat wealthy man into the alleyway where the boys would take him down and rob him of his coins. The older they got - and the more notorious their reputation became - the game of cat and mice was less with the everyday civilian and more with the police men chasing them through the winding alleyways until they were back at the docks with the rest of the street urchins.

When Andrews-Jones traveling circus rolled into town for its yearly visit, Sweet Pea could see the wheels turning inside his friends head. There wasn’t much work for a rag tag trio of thirteen year olds. Apprenticeships that weren’t familial were hard to come by. Once upon a dream Sweet Pea might have lived among the swells. He came from illegitimate birth: a mother who was a scullery maid and a father with a family who owned an up and coming railway company. The man he had never known died of consumption when he was just two months old. The same illness that took his mother six years later. Ever since then he’d spent his days picking pockets and juggling knives for the entertainment of the gentry who had shunned him for not having a proper pedigree.

“They’re not looking for any more talent,” Fangs said bitterly, kicking along a large rock until it made a defeated splash in the ocean. “I just checked.”

“We’re not trying to join them, idiot. I’m sure they have enough outcasts like us already. What we’re going to do is break and steal some of their cash. Not a lot, just enough to get by the next couple of months. I don’t want them noticing too much is gone and calling the police on us.”

Unlike Sweet pea, Toni never had a concept of a loving home. Tossed from one home to another until she landed in the lap of an over extended orphanage. With a never ending supply of mouths to feed, it was no surprise she was kicked out before she turned eight. It had made her bitter. Cold. And ruthless. There was no reason those circus freaks got to live it up while the rest of them suffered in the streets. No harm in a little retribution.

Despite Fangs initial protests to her plan, they had spent the morning casing the place, curling the tents until they came across the ringmaster's quarters. Toni made a mental note where it was and left a big ‘X’ under one of the barrels. Sweet pea nicked a long candle and a few matches from one of the shops.

“What are you doing here girl?” A tall, burly man asked of Toni when he found her memorizing the layout of the shotty camp.

With as much innocence as she could muster, her eyes went wide and her thin legs quivered. “I got lost, sir. Can you show me where the exit is?”

Fooled by her trickery, the man let the way out. Left behind her boys worked quickly scratching charcoal lines in the path they would follow. Street smarts has served them all well. If the world was so intent on shutting them out, they would find a way to break in regardless.

In the dead of night they enacted their plan. Illuminated by nothing more than the flickering of the old dulling wax the trio worked quickly to avoid any tired, prying eyes coming across them. They stumbled upon a tent holding in the circus rations and Fangs quickly stuffed as much as he could into his pockets before continuing on. Just as they reached X marked tent, a few hushed whispers spilled from a gap in the canvas. Toni raised her hand for them to stop and leaned forward to hear the bickering.

“You’ll understand it one day boy. The life the Andrews have isn’t the one for people like you and me. We just wouldn’t fit in there.”

“You keep saying we like you and I are the same person! We aren’t Dad. I don’t know if I want to go around waving a cane in a peanut invested wasteland. Maybe I do but this is the only life I’ve ever had!”

“Forsythia came back didn’t she?” the older man’s voice was incredulous, but Toni could hear the hurt seeping through the cracks of his well constructed armor. My, my, my family secrets certainly were abundant tonight.

“Her name is Jellybean. That’s what she wants to be called.” The other one - a boy - gave a disgruntled sigh, “But yeah, she did.”

There was a softness now when the dad answered. “Look, son, I don’t want to fight about this tonight. I know you’ve been worried about Betty after she fell earlier but the doctors said she’d be right as rain in the morning.”

“I was supposed to catch her. I promised I’d always catch her.”

“You can’t catch everyone. No matter how hard you try. I know you want to because you’re a good kid, and you really care about her. But part of life is falling and having to pick yourself back up. You’re going to be there to help dust her off and that’s what matters.”

With their pep talk done, the boys went to bed. It was tricky work, staying hidden in the shadows until Toni heard the weighty snores of a man fast asleep. A few insomniac circus recruits stumbled around and the three were forced to hide where they could. After nearly an hour had passed, she finally gave the signal for their plan to begin. Fangs made a mad dash for one of the tents, taking the candle from Sweet Pea. Far away, the other two watched as the smoke began billowing, flames easily engulfing the canvas fabric.

Immediately everything erupted in chaos. Men and women began hauling buckets of water to the flickering orange and red fire. In the confusion, they snuck inside the ringmasters tent, now vacated by the black haired pair to help tame the uproar. Inside, Toni found a locked box hidden under a bed. Etched into the wood were two letters it took her a moment to recognize:  _ A &  F.  _ Whatever was inside she expected to be valuable. Once back to their hideaway in the docks she could grab a few things and pick the lock. Sweet Pea grabbed a handful of coins for each pocket before grabbing Toni’s hand and leading her out.

“And where are you two off to in such a hurry? And leaving behind precious cargo?” Toni’s eyes met with the same tall man from before, only now, clutched in his fist, was the back of Fangs jacket. Her friend struggled to break free, but it was no use. The ringmaster stood beside him.

“Stand down Tall Boy,” he remarked, “Let the kid go. But first, girl, you need to give me back my box. And the money you stole.”

Sweet Pea wanted to argue, insist their innocence, but Toni shook her head and handed over the box. She knew when she’d lost a battle. “Here you go. Pea give it up. We lost fair and square at this chess match.”

With Fangs safely back on the ground they gave up their spoils. From his pocket, Sweet Pea produced a shiny dagger Toni had never seen before. She suspected it was one he’d stolen from the tent, but the engraving told a different story. He didn’t talk much about his past, so she never pried, but this certainly was something interesting.

It seemed to peak the ringmasters interest as well. “You any good with that thing, kid?”

“Yes, sir,” but the way he answered was anything but respectful. “Better than the guys you’ve got throwing knives around now. They don’t have aim.”

“Show me what you’ve got.”

Eyebrow raised, Sweet Pea closed his eyes. With a grace that was almost startling he flung the knife outward. A few feet away it landed with a loud thunk dead center on the target. Toni whistled, voice low as she whispered, “Nice shooting ace. I didn’t know you could do that.”

“You never asked.” Secrets were the name of his game. They always had been. Even though they’d run together for years there was a lot of his life that remained a mystery.

“Impressive,” the black haired man whistled, “What about you kids? Any hidden talents?”

Fangs spoke up first, “I can juggle. And Toni can eat fire.”

“How’d you come across that one?” 

“You run a circus don’t you? People learn to do crazy things to get food in their stomachs,” she bit out. “Can we leave now? You got what you wanted and we don’t have any money to pay for the tents.”

“You don’t. Not yet. I have a proposition for you three. Come work for me. Join the circus and I’ll consider your debt more than paid. Free food. Free beds. A small paycheck at the end of tours. It’ll be enough to get you set. You stay five years and after that you’re free to go. Unless you want to stay. We’d be happy to still have you.”

Toni took a step forward, toe to toe with a man much taller and much older than her. “You do realize us joining will get people talking.”

“Oh, little girl, that’s exactly what I’m hoping for.”

* * *

 

_ Veronica-1912 _

The Circus was not something Veronica Lodge had ever been particularly aware of growing up. Of course she had seen the signs that littered the streets of New York City. Advertisements for the Andrews-Jones traveling oddities and freaks. Hiram preferred his daughter to be kept far away from all that business. Perhaps it was that allure of the forbidden that had her leaping without worry into Archibald Andrews’ open arms.

Their affair had begun in the dead of night. She had snuck out for one last look at the brilliant skyline as a free woman before her parents began her scheduled courtship to Nick St. Clair. His family was rich. Powerful. With a name that could carry her far when paired with her birthright. But that was not the kind of love Veronica wanted. Once upon a time Nick had been the only man for her. After a drunken night at the pub, he had snuck into her room in the quiet hours and forced himself on her. It was a memory she could never - would never - forget. Marrying a man like him made her stomach turn.

Walking amongst the staggering folks, with his head held high, was a magnificent man with flame red hair. Instantly she felt drawn to him. Without a second thought she dropped her slipper to the ground, right in front of where he intended to walk. Shoes did not often fall from the sky so he looked up. Their eyes met and in that instant: electricity. There were no words for the powerful force that pulled them together, but they could not stay apart for long after that fateful meeting.

Hiram was appalled by his daughter's behavior. Running around with the son of a circus man was not the sort of the thing the girl he had raised would do. That implication alone was enough to send her further down her rebellious path. No man could control her. Not ever again.

Archie Andrews did not seek to tame her fire. On the contrary, he revelled in its warmth. Her own strength aided his. No longer would he allow Fred Andrews to dictate his life. The footsteps hallowed out for in the cobblestone were not the ones he wanted to take. A finance man - a business man - that was not the road he was meant to travel.

Expectations often fought were what tied them together. Where one would waver, the other would lift. Archie wrote countless letters to Jughead, describing his late night adventures with a certain raven haired goddess. He had never been exquisite with words, but the simple fact that he was writing them meant something. Archie promised the next time the circus was in town he would take her to meet the best friend he only saw once a year. It was a bit of a miserable arrangement, but they made do. They always did.

As Veronica prepared her hair for the late night, there was a subtle knock at her door. In stepped her mother. Dressed to the nines as always, a Lodge women did not even let her help think she faltered from elegance and grace.

“Mija, are you really so intent on disobeying your father like this?” Hermione asked, a swirling glass of red wine in her crystal cup. Wealth practically oozed from her every pore.

“I’m living my life, mother, and happily. If Daddy has a problem with it then he can try and do something to stop me. I love Archie, and he wants me to meet his friends tonight so I’m going. It’s no different from when he joined me at the theatre a week ago.”

It had been the beautiful disaster she had planned it to be. Her friends were shook to their core by the very mention of his middle class status and her father had been flushed so deep with anger he mirrored a tomato. Together, in the high above booth, Archie had kissed her until she saw a glittering array of stars. It was a rush of adrenaline she never wanted to stop chasing.

“You’re going to have to end things with him eventually. You’re engaged to Nicholas.”

“No. You’ve engaged me to him. I don’t have to marry him. I can stand up there all day until you let me say no or the priest dies of old age. I won’t marry someone like him. I refuse to.”

Hermione took a deep breath and spoke again, this time with more conviction. “Hiram intends to send you away to him tomorrow night. The St. Claire’s have a lovely home in Vermont for you two to settle down in. Your nuptials are already planned. I suggest you spend your last night with that boy and love him as hard as you can. Because when the sun comes up tomorrow, whatever you had with him is dead.”

Veronica’s silver brush clattered to the floor, but before she could ask any of the questions now circling her mind, her mother was gone. She stared into her vanity. The reflection now gazing back made her sick. From her perfect hair to the bottom of her expensive boots she was a Lodge. No matter of playing dress up with Archibald would change that. She was living in a fantasy and it all came crashing down. She reached out and snatched the pearls from her neck. A cascade of jewels clattered to the ground along with her tears. They were a shiny present from her father, acting as a distraction from her status as a prisoner.

She didn’t know how long she sat in her chair, sobbing as the hope flickered away from her heart. Maybe it was hours until she heard the tell tale footsteps of her lover. He never was particularly graceful: but that was part of his charm.

When he entered the room, Archie’s heart practically sank. There before him was a raven haired princess crying her heart out. He went to her and pulled her close. The kisses he left along her head did little to soothe the ache in her chest. At last, she quieted her sobs enough to speak.

“Daddy’s going to send me away tomorrow. To marry Nick. I won’t ever get to see you again Archie. What were we doing? Playing pretend until reality came and snatched you away from me. It isn’t fair. It’s not.”

His mind reeled and his thoughts sputtered. No. No he didn’t want to lose her. Not Veronica. “I won’t let it happen. We can think of something.” Slowly but surely a plan articulated in the grooves of his brain. “We could run away together!”

Veronica smiled up at him. Her soft Archiekins, so hopeful. She let herself be clouded by his words, a beautiful little fantasy building high above her locked tower. “And where would we go Archibald?”

“We go where everyone goes to get away.” From his pocket he pulled out a crumpled flyer. The golden font was all too familiar. “To the circus.”


	2. The Circus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Fortune favors the brave and never helps a man who does not help himself.” - PT Barnum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you thank you THANK YOU for all the love and support this fic has gotten so far. I admit I was a bit nervous about it but it's gotten a lot of love and I'm really really grateful to all of you who have been reading it! Finally finished planning it all out and it will be a total of 7 chapters! <3

_ Jughead- February 1912 _

Helping hands were important to keep the circus running as smoothly as possible. Without the acrobats, the clowns, and even the son of the showman himself brushing the animals after a busy day, very little would get done. Early in the morning - before even the sun dared to awaken - they would be up, ripping away the magic of the big top so they could move onto bigger and much more guiliable cities. Jughead and Betty had been tasked with brushing the horses. It was an easy job and left them with a lot of time to talk, something they never could stop when left in the same room together.

“I don’t think Charlotte likes how you’re brushing her Juggie,” Betty tease good naturedly.

The mare in question was Jellybean’s and she had never liked her owners’ older brother. No matter how Jughead tried to get on the brown speckled animal’s good side, it was a failure. Extra sugar cubes? Spat in his face. Gentle brushes? She’d spend the entire time trying to pull away from him. Until now, he would never have thought a horse could hate someone.

His sister had rejoined her father in the striped canvas walls the second she had been old enough. Fred and Mary were reluctant to let her go, but Forsythia’s spirit was as free as her family’s. Because of her ballet lesson during her time with the Andrews, she found a talent quickly in the circus. Animals loved her. People loved to watch her dance. It only made sense to combine those. For anyone else, Jughead suspected, watching their young sister dance atop an elephant might cause anxiety. For him, it was simply part of life.

“JB’s feeding her lies. Hear that Charlotte? They’re lies.”

Betty laughed and he counted his words as a massive success. From the first time he had seen her spring from the board, only to be caught by the strong arms of her elder brother Chic, Jughead knew there was something special. Like a swan, she flew across their world - their very small world, but their’s none the less. She was never meant to be caged. Captivity did not bother Elizabeth Cooper however. She had only thrived in her confinement while Jughead floundered.

The horse bucked her head under his touch, causing him to stumble backwards into the canvas tents. The blonde woman laughed again. Things had changed - not only in their world but between them. Long gone were the awkward touches of youth, replaced with a new found confidence. Dancing around each other was an art they had perfected. But every day that dance drew them just a little closer. One day, he might even grow enough courage to kiss her.

But that day would not be while an evil horse fought against his grasp and made an absolute fool out of him. Perhaps Charlotte was trying to prove he fit in better with the clowns than the ringmaster.

“Still having trouble taming that wild beast Jones?” Sweet Pea hollered from his spot beside Toni. With the luck of the draw - which Toni always seemed to have (Jughead suspected she was cheating) - they were tasked with sharpening the knives.

“Bite me, Sweet Pea.”

He muttered a few more curse words as they laughed, resuming his work with Charlotte the demon horse. Betty put a comforting hand on his shoulders.

“Oh I think you’re pretty good at taming things.”

There were a few minutes where Jughead suspected his heart had stopped and his lungs forgot to breath. Looking down at those pretty pink lips, his throat went dry. Like she’d been bitten by a snake, Betty withdrew her hand. That smile never left though. Jughead felt significantly more confident.

“I hear FP wants you to lead us during practices from now on.”

He sighed. “Yeah he does.” Suddenly those prickly horse hairs were a lot more interesting than the world around him.

There were a lot of things FP wanted of his son. First and foremost was for him to pick up the mantle as ringmaster when he decided to retire. That day was one Jughead was sure would come only when his dad grew so old his legs were hobbled with age. There was an addiction in him, one so deep seated it was hard to clearly define. Fuzzy feelings and warm cheeks during winter were not the only reasons FP kept a bottle of whiskey under his bed. No his father wanted to feel something again and again: the rush brought on when he stepped foot in front of a crowd. Maybe alcohol had given that to him once, but now it was just a crutch.

“How do you feel about that?”

Jughead had made no secret to his distaste for one day being the ringmaster. It was a role he wasn’t sure he would ever truly fit into. He was shy, artistic, and preferred to keep to the sidelines. But in part, it was that fear of failure that kept him away, the little angry voices in his head that told him he would never be as great as his father. He did not have that talent. He did not have that charisma. He was just Jughead: the little boy who would never fill FP’s shoes.

Betty had always been there to lend an ear to his struggle. In the late nights they would sit outside together, studying the midnight sky and just talk. She would tell him about her family. About Polly who spent most of her nights in Jason Blossom’s arms. About Chic who was flourishing and never wanted to leave. Then she told him about her - that was always his favorite part. Things would eventually find their way to him and his worries. Had he the ability to push away the moroseness and give Betty someone positive and bright like she deserved. Maybe it was their balance that kept them so close. He was the moon and she was the sun: destined to meet only briefly before being ripped apart again.

“I’m not sure.”

“Well you know what I think. You’ll be spectacular. You always are. Remember when got sick and we didn’t know what to do with our act? You helped us figure it out. That’s ringmaster potential.”

“Maybe I’m more cut out for behind the scenes.” In the shadows, where he belonged. Bathed in the Circus - or Betty’s - lights did not suit him.

Betty shook her head and set the horse brush aside. Her hands were calloused from rope burns but they fit so perfectly in his. “I don’t know what to do to get you to believe me, but I know you can do amazing. No harm in trying right? See if that’s where you want to be.”

He didn’t let go of her hands, and she didn’t pull back. They were pulled together in a moment of bliss, undisturbed by the endless cacophony of the circus. Of course, all good thing must come to an end. From the crowd of odd folk emerged the most odd one of all: a man with brilliant ginger hair who Jughead had known since birth. Right beside him was a raven haired beauty. No doubt that was Veronica Lodge, the woman who had filled the pages of their friendly letters as Archie extolled her virtues. What virtues the rich had, Jughead didn’t know.

“Jughead!”

Betty pulled away from him again, but was unable to escape Archibald’s all encompassing hug. It was tight, warm, and maybe a little stuffy. She laughed and ducked to escape. “We thought you wouldn’t show up!”

“Yeah, maybe you got caught up in Veronica,” Jughead teased, “I’m glad you’re here. I wanted to see you one last time before we left.”

Archie’s eyes were full of excitement as he pulled his lover a little bit closer. The woman was not sheepish and did not need her man to lead introductions. “I’m Veronica Lodge. It’s great to meet you. You’re Jughead and Betty, right? It’s absolutely a pleasure.”

It took only a second before he noticed the suitcases in her grasp. They weren’t very big, but Jughead suspected they weren’t just for a nightly visit. For Archie’s part, he looked a bit sheepish. “Jug can I talk with you a minute? Just us?”

“Archie’s done something stupid Betty. Give me a second to go talk him out of it.” He grabbed his best friend’s arm and dragged him behind the tent, away from prying eyes. Archie was still a phenomenon within Circus City. He was the son of their silent partner - a man many people wanted to impress but weren’t quite sure why. Gossip traveled quickly here. Whatever mistakes had been made did not need to haunt him for decades. “What happened?”

The tale was just as convoluted as Jughead had expected from his ginger friend. He was a man who did things with all the best intentions, but often failed to think before he lept. It would not be too out of reach to say Jughead was almost all of his impulse control. Veronica needed out, and so did he. Where better a place to go than the circus his family in part owned?

“And what makes you think my dad will say yes, Arch? Especially with how adament Fred has been about  _ never  _ letting you be part of this. He didn’t even want me and JB to be part of this and we aren’t his kids.”

“I’m an adult. I get to make my own decisions and I want to be with Veronica. Her father won’t let us be together in New York so we’ll do it somewhere else. Please just...come with me to talk to Mr. Jones. I’ll find a place here, and so will Veronica. We’ll work hard.”

Jughead rolled his eyes. “I don’t think she knows what hard work is. That isn’t an insult at her, so don’t act like it is. People like her don’t work hard. Not like we have to. You don’t even know what it means to be here completely. What if you both hate it? Then what happens?”

“Then I’ll figure it out when that happens. I just...we need a place to be. Please Jug. Please?”

It was a cold day in hell when Jughead could deny his best friend’s big wide eyes. He sighed. “Fine. We’ll go. Leave Veronica with Betty though. It’s just formality. You know he’ll let you stay.”

“Thank you.” They shared one last hug before making their way to the ringmaster’s tent.

* * *

 

_ Veronica- February 1912 _

While the boys went off to speak with FP, Veronica explained her prickly situation to her new friend. Betty was an open and willing ear to listen. She nodded in all the right places, felt empathy, and very quickly Veronica decided they were going to be the best of friends. Despite her privileged upbringing (or maybe because of it), she had never had many friends to rely on. Many of the women were underhanded on the best of days and vicious on the worst. Part of the upper class way was studying peers for any sign of weakness to be exploited. It was the most tiring of things. 

Betty asked questions about Archie that she was all too eager to answer. A man like that was one she never suspected to meet. Nick St. Clair, in all his misogynistic glory, was who she’d always suspected to spend her days with, waiting for death to come and take her from her loveless life. Now she was running off to join the circus in an impulsive act of adoration. It was all very romantic in her eyes.

“What about you?” Veronica asked, mind still stuck on romance. The way Jughead and her looked at each other was far from platonic. “Is that your husband?”

“Who? Jughead?” Betty’s eyes went wide and she began to sputter, “I well no. No we aren’t married we aren’t...well we’re…”

“You’re something but you don’t know what. Honestly why can’t boys make up their minds quicker. You want it to be something and he obviously does. But he’s too scared to make the move forward. Why don’t you then?”

The blonde grew bright red, pulling back nervously. She thought for a minute before finally speaking. “Because what if I’m wrong? What if he doesn’t want us to be what I want us to be. He’s not very good at making decisions, making commitment.”

Veronica took her hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. Men were complicated, confusing creatures. Even Archibald gave her troubles sometimes and he was rather simple compared to others she had met. Sweet, but simple.

“Well since I’m going to live here now, how about you show me around? No more boy talk. For now. I’m insatiably curious so we’ll have to have a long talk about tall, dark, and brooding at another time.”

They moved quickly through the tents. Tall Boy the stilts man was a bit intimidating, but seemed friendly enough. The mermaid woman and tiny Napoleon were a kind married couple who insisted they were going to take her out drinking one night. Acceptance was the first word that came to mind. All the people here, without even a second thought, were excited to have her as part of their family.

Sweet Pea, Toni, and Fangs were grouped together, talking about the new woman who had arrived on Archie Andrews’ arm. When her and Betty approved, Veronica decided to put her best foot forward. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Veronica Lodge. And who are you all?”

The woman with a frightening amount of tattoos (the Tattooed Lady, the signs had called her) looked her over with a critical gaze. It felt familiar to be judged so she takes it in stride. Whatever Toni thinks of her is minimal. She was here for Archie. And maybe now Betty. Fangs was nice and relatively gentle in comparison to the others. Sweet Pea’s edge was as razor sharp as the knives he was holding.

“Why are you here, princess?” Sweet Pea asked, rolling his eyes.

Veronica frowned. “Excuse me? I just said why I’m here. I’m living here now, as part of the circus.”

“You so sure about that? I’m not sure you really fit in with people like us.”

His bitterness was scathing. Painful. It almost made her eyes water. But Veronica was a Lodge and she stood tall, head held high. A little hurtful words couldn’t break her. Very little could.

“Well that’s not a decision for you to make is it?” she took Betty’s hand and pulls her away, “You have to keep introducing me. It was lovely to meet you Sweet Pea, maybe in the future you won’t be as angry. I hear that’s bad for wrinkles.”

Never before had Sweet Pea been left so speechless. When Betty told her that, she felt a sense of pride and accomplishment. “I’ve been getting people like him to shut up for years, B. I’ll show you all my magic tricks.”

Cheryl and Jason were a pair of twins that were often wrapped in the same shirt to give the appearance of being conjoined. It was a humbug, but one that left the crowd dazzled. 

“Grandma Rose had magic,” Cheryl explained, “So we give readings.”

The Blossoms were a name that Veronica recognized. They had run out of land and maple syrup, leaving their trees as empty as their wallets. In a desperate attempt to gain some renown back, their mother, Penelope Blossom, had engaged her daughter to an elderly wealthy man. The talk around her friends was that Cheryl had bit the man’s finger off and run town to join the circus with her brother. Half of that was true, but Veronica was unsure she wanted to know if the other was as well.

At last, Archie returned to her, walking side by side with a greying man, Jughead, and a girl who looked so similar to both she must have been related. Quickly she came to find the young girl to be Jughead’s sister and the man his father. The ringmaster gave her a proper handshake, but the girl hugged her tightly and began talking animatedly.

“You’re Veronica right? Archie always talks about you in his letters. Jug thinks he’s the only one who gets them but I lived with the Andrews for five years so we got to be pretty good friends too. He’s like another older brother. Just as big. Just as annoying. Just as protective. You make him really happy.”

“Yes she does,” Archie pulled his girl close and planted a kiss to the top of her head. “FP says we can stay. You’re a dancer so I thought maybe you and Jellybean could work together.”

The black haired girl - with the very strange name - nodded. “I dance on the animals. It’s tricky at first but you’ll get the hang of it. I’ll help you too.”

Everyone had been more than welcoming and it made her excited. The circus had always been a childish curiosity. Now, she was going to be part of it.

* * *

 

_ Alice and FP- March 1912 _

Bottles were simple. With a shot or two he could finally relax, let the stress of the day melt away into something more tolerable. But one or two shots quickly became three or four, which morphed into five or six, and soon bottles were the only thing that could keep his mind clear and his tongue loose. Without a loose tongue, his business of cons and trickery was nothing. So without whiskey, he was nothing.

That was what FP reminded himself, pouring another drink in the glass before him. There were letters mixed up on his desk, angry ones from Fred Andrews demanding he be told why his son had not come home. Business between father and son should not be dealt with by a third party, so FP had urged the red headed boy to at least send a missive. Mostly for the good of the circus. Fred bursting open canvas tents wouldn’t make for good publicity. Or maybe it would. All publicity was good these days.

With the world on the brink of self implosion, people wanted an escape. The circus was exactly that. There was very little that was real about what they did, but that made it all the better to the curious eye. It was a distraction from reality: a silly enjoyment to pass the time. The more dramatics that were talked about the better.

Before the drink could meet his lips, a pale hand stretched out and snatched it from his grasp. Alice Cooper stood beside him, bathed in the flickering pale yellow glow of candlelight. Even in the dimness she was gorgeous. Her curls, her curves: age had been nothing but kind to the woman he would have once called the love of his very life. Maybe he would still call her that now. But it was a messy line in the sand that had been drawn - one both of them had spent a very long time ignoring.

He had not excepted Alice Cooper to show up back in his life ever, let alone groveling for a place by his side. He should have said no. Should have turned her away to save his already broken heart. But a wise man, he was not. So he opened his home, his business, his life back up to her, because there was little way to keep her out.

Their childhood romance had not begun again now that they were both free of the weight of marriage. The growing closeness between their children only irritated the wound. Whatever they had was not so easily described by words. He loved her, undoubtedly, but knew deep within him he would never get a chance to hold her again - not being the man he was these days: a drunkard with a never ending hunger for attention. 

“Haven’t you had enough?” She said easily, pouring the drink to the ground and setting the shot glass aside. The bottle was pushed back to the edge of the desk and out of his immediate reach. “That was full earlier this morning.”

“I got thirsty.”

There was a weighted silence that followed. It might have been absolutely crushing if it weren’t so common. Most nights for Alice were inside this tent, pushing the bottle away from the man she knew would be quick to pick it back up once she was gone. It was a game she both loved and hated to play.

“Then find something else to satiated it. We do have water. How you aren’t dried out yet I have no idea.”

“Well I can think of a few other things to keep my thirst quenched.”

The eye waggle he gave would have been hilarious had it not been accompanied with the overwhelming scent of alcohol. It hurts, everyday, to watch FP become less and less the man she knew he was. Before he had been strong, kind, and even brilliant. The husk before her gave no credit to that. He was sick with something, something that was fueled with liquor. She often wondered how much longer she could torture herself with watching his downward spiral.

“What you need is to get in bed.”

She helped him stand with little effort. It was a dance they did every night. He stumbled once or twice but finally flopped onto the cold mattress. Jughead made sure to stay far away from his father until he knew he was fast asleep, usually spending his time watching Betty practice. Alice was grateful for that. He shouldn’t have to see the man he admired so much acting like this.

With tears in his eyes, FP held tightly to her hand. Sleep was chasing after him like. So ready to sink it’s fangs into his tired mind. But he had more he wanted to say. More that needed to be said. His throat was painfully dry and all that came out was a cracked whisper.

“I love you Ali.”

Alice sighed and ran a gentle hand through his tangled hair. He was incredibly tired, but she suspected he always was. A man like him got very little sleep - kept awake by his demons until the sun was rising.

“Get some sleep.” She watched as it finally took him. His expression softened, his worry melted away. Alice did not stop touching him until she was content knowing he would not wake again until sunrise. She pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I love you too FP. Idiot you may be, I’ll always love you.”

But love wasn’t what mattered. Love was blinding. Love was painful. Love had lead them both on the wrong path too many times to count, and now love was breaking them apart. Alice watched her own daughter follow in her path as FP’s son chased after his father’s shadow. It was all too heartbreaking to know where they would end once their dance was done.

* * *

 

_ Betty - March 1912 _

Every night, once all the lights had been snuffed out and most people retired for bed, Betty would go to the practice tent. It wasn’t as nice as the official stage, but it would do for late night practice. She threaded her lyra with rope and tied it to the post. The floor below was dusted with wood chips, so she promised herself she would not go too high tonight. There had been one too many nights where she’d fallen to the ground and ended the evening in her mother’s cot as she plucked splintered from her knees, elbows and thighs.

These were the moments she loved. Kicking off the rope and flying up until the top of the tent was nearly in reach. If she could only reach out and touch it, rip it away so she could continue on forever up. Betty hummed to herself, imagining the roar of the crowds all cheering for her. It was intoxicating to be loved. She flipped down, letting her body dangle in the air as blood rushed to her head. Cheeks flushed, toes curled, she might never have felt so free before.

She let the blood rush held calm her nerves before sitting back up. Everything felt electric in her mind and nothing refused to sit still. Veronica had said, nearly a month ago now, that she wanted to know everything that her and Jughead were, but Betty herself didn’t know. It was like she walked a tightrope with him on the other side and no matter how far she walked he only got further and further away.

The Jones’ were complicated. That was something she had once overheard her mother say. As a child it had seemed silly. Jughead was never complicated. He was sweet and kind and was always there beside her, no matter what they decided to do. But as they both grew, she began to understand a little better. Complicated did not mean he was not lovely. Complicated did not mean he was not sweet. Complicated meant his was messy. His thoughts, his words, his actions: all a confusing mess of mixed signals she couldn’t quite place. The headache now forming was likely more his fault than the lyras.

“Betty what are you doing?”

His voice was familiar and despite all her worries, she smiled. “I’m practicing.”

Why he bothered to ask still she wasn’t sure. Jughead liked to watch her work her trade. He often said witnessing her spin and move was like watching water moved by fluid currents. Strange, but poetic always did describe him best.

“You always are.”

Jughead sat on the barrels, his blue eyes fixed upwards as she ran over her set again and again. It was second nature at this point. They changed every year or so, to make sure the cities they hit again were not dulled by familiar choreography, but this one had been easy to slip into. The older she became, the more agency both her mother and FP let her have over her work. She was not just a little girl helping aid her mother. She was a full fledged member of the Andrews-Jones travelling circus.

With him watching, she always liked to show off just a bit more. Her rope got higher. Her tricks got more daring. Jughead was the perfect audience member, applauding, gasping, whistling at all the right parts. She never needed a crowd with him around; just his eyes were enough to make her feel like a star.

“You know,” Betty said, landing on her feet with a soft thud. “You could always try if you wanted. You say you aren’t cut out for ring master, so maybe acrobat is where you belong.”

She was teasing him, but it made him smile. Jughead stood and walked towards her, taking the hoop in hand. He examined the metal with a curious gaze. It wasn’t very often that she let him touch her equipment - any of it. It had a surprising weight to it and the steel was smooth under his touch.

“I’m not so sure I would be very good at that Betty,” he laughed and tried to return it to her grasp. Betty stepped back and hid her hands behind her back. There was a mischievous glint in her eyes that left him breathless and his heart fluttering.

In all her time by his side, she had never once seen him step outside of his comfort zone. He was always too shy, too nervous, too awkward (all his own words) to do anything other than sit in the back and make sure the events for the day ran smoothly. But when he wasn’t looking, Betty watched him. People followed him, they listened to him. Where he saw unsureness she witnessed charisma in ten fold. Where he saw fumbling she watched him fail only to pick himself up again. Everything about him left her breathlessly intoxicated.

“Try it. For me?”

There was very little Jughead wouldn’t do for her. Maybe she was exploiting that fact, but she wanted to prove to him that he could do anything if he put his mind to it. Ringmaster, acrobat, even a clown if it’s what he wanted. (Well, maybe not a clown.)

“What if I fall?” he took a step closer, threading his hand in Betty’s.

“Well then, I guess I’ll catch you.”

It was a surprise to both of them when their lips met. Chaste, gentle, and enough to make her heart flutter. All too soon it was over, and Betty felt herself instantly missing his chapped lips. Neither of them were sure what to do. The silence felt suffocating.

Finally she managed to find her voice, buried deep down in her chest where her nervous energy had curled up. “Hold on tight.”

She pulled the rope and sent him flying off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow me on tumblr @tory-b (i don't bite!)


	3. The Pub

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Nothing draws a crowd quiet like a crowd.” -PT Barnum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost a month later but this fic is back! Thanks for everyone who stuck with me and I promise I'll start to update a bit faster than months at a time <3 Just been drowning in school and what not! As you can see there's been a rating change. Just finally figured out where this was going for sure so no need to have it rated anything more than T! Also Bughead's plot starts to really kick off in this chapter! Hope you enjoy!

_ FP Jones and Fred Andrews - 1885 _

The door to the Mr. Tate’s Pub chimed loudly, cutting through the foggy afternoon air. Forsythe Pendleton Jones II looked up to see a red-haired man. He looked scrappy, nervous, and easy to fool. Finishing up his last shot of bourbon, which stung his throat and his empty wallet, he turned to face the newcomer. Ever since Alice had left him, FP spent every night in the small pub, filled with fisherman stopping by for drinks mid-shifts and he hadn’t see this one before. Maybe his wily ways would finally be put to good use again. His fingers were feeling particularly sticky tonight.

“Hey! You! What’s your name, kid?”

The redhead looked around the dusty hollow room before resting his brown eyes back on the drunkard in the chair. “Kid? I think you might need glasses. I’d suspect I’m as old as you are.”

“Yeah, yeah. Come sit here with me. I want to talk to you about something.”

Despite knowing he shouldn’t, knowing it isn’t a good idea, the man went to the old barstool and sat down. It creaked and cracked under his weight, the old leather faded and exposing the cushion underneath. FP couldn’t believe his luck. The world was full of men and women just looking to get fooled. It would be a shame to rip the last of the coins from this boy’s pocket - he had some courage.

“What did you want me for?” he asked suspiciously.

FP waved him off. “What’s your name? I’m FP Jones. The second. Not that I know much about the one that came before me. Old man died when I was thirteen and left me on the streets to fend for myself. That bastard.”

“I’m Fred Andrews and I’m sorry to hear that.” Wordlessly he ordered himself a drink. 

Mr. Tate seemed to recognize him, peeking FP’s curiosity. “You from around here?”

“Born and raised in this sleepy little town. I always have big plans of leaving one day for New York City, but I don’t think that’ll ever happen.”

The drunken man scoffed, knocking on the countertop for another round. “We’ve all got dreams and none of them, and I mean none, will ever come true. I used to dream that I’d start something big, a business, a place where the absurd is reality and what makes you different makes you desirable. In a world like this? No one wants the freaks, the outcasts, the downtrodden, so why not give them a chance to show them what we’re worth. I used to dream I’d make it big and everyone who ever told me I wasn’t good enough would have to watch me thrive. The last time I ever dreamed was the night before I lost my girl to some prick in an oversized overcoat carrying around a big check from the bank.”

His speech was hard to follow, slurred with hurt and whiskey. The raw wounds Alice had left crackled back to the surface, deep and serrated, leaving him mutilated forever after. A lady of the night could only chase away his terrors with her sweet sex and supple thighs for so long before the demons reared their ugly head and only the stinging pungency of a shot could chase them back into their locked cave in the hollows of his heart.

To a boy with nothing, the potential of everything always lingered on the edges of his vision. He saw three piece suits and greedy fat cats through green lenses. What made his quick wit so different, so abhorrible, compared to the lawyers and politicians was simple - there were no coins in his pocket to grease palms with. Men like him were just easily disposable fodder for the machine.

“What’s stopping you?” Fred asked, raising the glass to his lips.

FP laughed. “Do I look like I’ve got money to you? I’m as dry as this drink Mr. Andrews. I’m going to die on the docks without a single soul to remember my name.”

“I’ll remember you. Not every day I meet a man like you.”

The empty glass hit the ground with a crack, shattering and splintering in all directions of the room. FP fumbled over his words. Whatever witty words had been sitting on the tip of his tongue were swallowed in surprise. He swallowed down the tightness in his throat and let the smile creep out. He shook his head and turned back to face the man beside him.

Outside, the sky had faded it a dusky mix of purple and black. The street lights flickered on, mercilessly frying unsuspecting bugs. But the moon bathed the bar in a new light - a physical silver lining, something FP had never experienced before.

“You said you always wanted to get out of this place right? See some bigger and better places? Well boy do I have a proposition for you.”

There, on the back of a cotton napkin in a dimly lit pub by the darks, the Andrews-Jones Traveling Circus was born.

* * *

_  
Sweet Pea and Veronica - March 1912 _

Sweet Pea liked silence. When the magic had faded and all the tents were packed, he liked sitting by himself and basking in the afternoon glow by himself and sharpen his knife. The steel shown brilliantly under the lights, it’s edges such a fine point it could even a thick rope with a single swing. Etched in the hilt was a familiar family crest, the one from the family who had forgotten him. He was left with a bitter taste in his mouth whenever he looked at it. But it was something his mother had always held dear, handed to him on her deathbed, and he couldn’t bring himself to throw it in the garbage where it belonged.

To ensure Fangs’ ears stayed firmly attached to his head, the knives they used for the show were much duller than his. He wouldn’t dare risk such a prized possession on a silly circus game. After the Jason had almost lost a finger, people were finally learning not to ask questions. Even Toni only knew a small fraction of the tale he had to tell. Sweet Pea swallowed the truth whole and stitched his mouth shut.

And then a woman named Veronica Lodge had come along, full of a curiosity he didn’t fully understand. Everything about the technicolor world around them was so bright and new. Even the ever present stench of peanuts could not deter her from exploration. With every place they went her eyes got wider and her heart got bigger. There was so much to see outside of her swarovski prison.

Jason and Cheryl Blossom were a phenomenon, a set of twins who could supposedly read the future. She went to see them every morning with her palm outstretched waiting to be spun humbug tales. But nothing quite caught her curiosity as much as the quiet, grumpy circus daredevil.

Perched on a barrel, Sweet Pea rubbed the wet stone against the blade of his knife. Veronica caught his gaze and lifted her plum colored skirt (that undoubtedly cost more than his yearly wages here) before hurrying over. Of course she’d taken accidental eye contact as an invitation to invade his daily meditations.

“Sweet Pea I-”

“No, I will not teach you to throw it. No, you can’t see it. And no, I don’t want your company.”

Veronica blinked, taken aback by his immediate rudeness. He was never particularly kind to her, but she had always assumed it was just his everyday attitude. This blatant disrespect towards her was - well truthfully she had never experienced something like that before. The Lodges were always treated with the utmost reverence in New York. If a waiter so much as stared at her mother for too long he would end up jobless. But now she wasn’t a Lodge and Daddy wasn’t around to snap at Sweet Pea and make him be kind.

“Excuse me?” she scowled, taking another step forward. “That wasn’t very nice of you.”

“No one’s ever claimed I was nice, Princess. So maybe you should run off before I continue to be ‘not very nice’ to you.”

“Where did you get such a bad attitude?”

The knife in his hand glittered, catching her attention. The steel was sharp, clean, and she noticed a familiar family crest. It was the same crest that had been pinned to her lapels when her father had announced her impending engagement to one Nick St. Clair. She reached out and pulled the knife from his grasp.

“Where did you get this?” she asked, studding the leather weaving on the hilt. It was finely crafted. “This belongs to the St. Clairs’!”

Sweet Pea’s eyes went wide. He fumbled, reaching for the only thing of value he had on him, sentimental or otherwise. The St. Clairs weren’t a name he cared to hear often. No matter what stories his mother had spun to try and soothe him with late at night when his stomach was rumbling with hunger and their roof leaked onto the floors of their tiny hovel. Whatever or whoever they were it didn’t matter. He didn’t belong to them. They had made that perfectly clear.

“No,” he snatched it from her grasp. “That belongs to me. And you should keep your greedy fingers off what doesn’t belong to you. I know your father’s a thief but I didn’t think you were one too.”

It was no secret that Hiram Lodge’s business arrangements were not always clean. But the police, and often the mayor, were paid off. He was the proud owner of much of the city’s slums through less than savory means. Inch by inch he was replacing the old buildings, displacing hundreds of lower class citizens who already struggled to stay on their feet. More and more the dock workers were living on boats and renting out cots in the cannery. He was slowly reshaping New York the way he had always imagined it to be: a high rise metropolis of culture for the wealthy. What happened to those who lost their homes he had little sympathy for.

And still, Veronica loved her father. Every rumor she had heard whispered must have been wrong, out of the mouth of competitors who saw his business through an envy tinted gaze. He had once promised her that what he did would help them all, even those struggling in the immediate aftermath. She knew he was not always the kindest man - her relationship with Archibald had made that very clear. And still, Veronica found it impossible to completely hate the man, to allow such nasty things to be said about him.

A crack sounded throughout the busy circus scene. Whoever could be witness to the dispute quickly shuffled away. Even Toni didn’t bother to stay put, grabbing Cheryl’s hand and whisking the noisy girl away to somewhere much more private (perhaps where they could serve as a distraction for each other).

Sweet Pea’s cheek was red and throbbing, a clear indication of his transgressions. Veronica seethed in front of his, voice lowering. “Don’t you ever say that about my father. He’s a good man and he always will be. No matter...no matter what problems him and I have he loves me. So maybe learn to watch your mouth and you won’t spend every day sitting here alone. Enjoy your solitude Sweet Pea.”

In a flourish or purple satin and white lace, she left him to wallow. 

* * *

_  
Jughead and Archie - March 1912 _

It was a tradition. A silly first night in Riverdale tradition, to get most of the younger members together and head out to Mr. Tate’s Pub. It was their beating heart, the very place everything had begun. The owner never appreciated their patronage. Whenever they came to town his wallet always got a lot fatter that night. But there were a lot of traditions Jughead thought should be left to die. Riverdale did not like them. A rag tag group of freaks were just fine and well inside their striped prison walls, but when they reached town limit the residence whispered daggers into their backs.

But because it was tradition, he went along with the rest of them. Betty held his hand tightly as they stumbled through the dusty streets. His breath stung like whiskey and from the way she stumbled next to him, it was no surprise that Betty had participated in the drinks his father had poured before they ventured out into the night. She clung a little tighter to her thin jacket and bathed in his warmth.

Toni walked side by side Cheryl, whispering something into her ear that caused Jason to blanch. “Please don’t ever say that in my vicinity again.”

“We aren’t really tied at the hip Jay-Jay,” Cheryl retorted, “Go cuddle next to Polly. Toni can take good care of me.”

Chic had promised to join them, but somewhere along the way a lady of the night had caught his eye and off he went. Jellybean always tried to sneak out to join them, but was quickly caught by Alice who insisted she go quickly to bed. Just a few more years and she could be out there too, but until then it was important to rest up. Sweet Pea and Fangs clung to the back, watching the houses they passed with paranoid eyes. It wouldn’t be the first time an angry civilian threatened them from the safety of a second story window. 

Archie held tight to Veronica’s side, leaning down to kiss her forehead. His movements were a bit sloppy from the alcohol, but his affection was true and earnest as it always was. Something about her attitude had seemed off all day. That normally spitfire disposition had been thrown askew by something, and tonight he was determined to loosen her lips with a little dancing and drink.

“Are you feeling okay Ronnie?” he asked quietly.

Veronica smiled sweetly and kissed his cheek. He was always such a gentle giant. “Of course I am Archiekins. Just a bit tired. I’m not used to moving around so much, but I’m getting used to it. Thank you for worrying, but I’m excited to spend the night with you.”

Her words calmed his worry and soon Mr. Tate’s Pub came into view. It was different than all the places he had ever been before. It was quaint, cozy, but the music the band was playing filled the establishment with addictive melodies it was impossible not to tap your feet to. The old man behind the bar greeted them with a wave.

“Well if it isn’t my favorite yearly customers. Mr. Jones, Miss Cooper, I see you’ve added a few new members to your ranks. It’s a pleasure to meet you both. I’m Pop Tate and this is my place. I hope you’ll enjoy it.”

“Don’t be so formal, Pop,” Jughead shook his head. “My dad is Mr. Jones. This is Archie Andrews, Fred’s son, and his fiancée Veronica Lodge. You know the rest of them.”

“Pleasure to meet you both. You know this is the place your dad meet FP,” Pop explained to a curious Archie. It was a story Jughead had heard a thousand times, but to someone who had been exiled from the business for so long it must have been fascinating. 

He sat on the bar stool and shook his head. “I didn’t know that Mr. Tate. My dad never told me much about that sort of thing.”

From behind the bar, Pop produced a photograph of Fred Andrews and FP Jones, framed in old wood. It was one of the few they had ever allowed to be taken of them together. Jughead studied the man inside the glass intently. Wide eyed, hopeful, perhaps even a bit naive. The world had never been kind to his father, that much was obvious from the wrinkles and bags under his youthful eyes, but the rabbit hole he had fallen down was full of spikes. The farther he went, the more at risk he was of never coming back.

Archie sat enraptured by the tale the older bartender spun, swallowing every bit of information he could get whole. Jughead stood transfixed by the photograph. Had his father ever been happy?  
“Juggie?” Betty pulled on his arm to get his attention, snapping him out of his trance. Worry laced her gentle voice. “Are you okay?”

Looking down into those endless green eyes, the worry melted away, even for just a moment. He took her hands and squeezed. “Don’t worry about it. Come dance with me?”

His suggestion thrilled her and off they went. The dance floor wasn’t crowded, but the people were lively and kept the energy up. They spun together, flew together, twirled and wirled until Betty nearly got dizzy from excitement. Every where his hands touched felt like a burst of fire. She craved more and more.

When the music began to slow, Archie offered his hand to Veronica and pulled her close. The pairs danced more intimately now, as Betty rested her head on Jughead’s chest. She listened to the steady beating of his heart. It was a delicate lullaby she wished would never end.

“Juggie….What….what are we?”

His eyebrows knit in confusion. “What do you mean? We’re in a circus. I’m going to be something and you’re an acrobat.”

“No. No I mean what are we together,” her gaze flittered over to where Archie and Veronica were pressed together, enjoying each other’s warmths in a way only those destined for forever truly can. She can feeling the jealousy creeping into her aching heart. “Are you and I together?”

The question catches him off guard and all of the air leaves him in a single swoop. For years Betty and him had been dancing around each other, keeping pace but never quiet meeting together for a final turn. They were content to orbit one another. But something or someone (he suspected Veronica) had happened and walls were being broken down. Tonight they were closer than ever to touching.

“What do you want us to be?” he asked his voice barely above a whisper. Their eyes met and propriety seemed a faraway and foreign concept. Her hair glittered in the light and he craved nothing more than to lean down and capture her soft lips.

The doors to the pub flung open and in came a group of drunken men, no doubt looking for a fight. Jughead pulled Betty closer. It wasn’t a guarantee, but this late at night when the townsfolk got restless, they often looked for a fight amongst the circus. From across the room, Sweet Pea kept his hand firmly on the hilt of his hidden knife.

“Look who we have here! Freaks abound,” one of them men spit. His drunken gaze scours the room for an easy target and rests upon the pretty blonde acrobat. “You! Are you are bendy as you look on stage?”  
Polly’s eyes flashed red with anger and she stood up from her place beside Jason. “Don’t talk to my sister like that you oaf.”

“Oh? And what will anyone say if I do? No one here cares about you weirdos, spinning tricks and conning us hard working people out of  _ our _ coin so you can drink in  _ our _ pubs. Ha! It’s disgusting.”

Pop Tate shook his head. “This place doesn’t belong to anyone but me and I get a say in who stays and who goes. And I’m going to ask you to leave my establishment now.”

“You’re fooled by them too Tate?” the angry man spun, venom in his words. “I’ll show you. They’re hardly people old man. No need to be so protective just because they keep you fat.” He reached out and grabbed Betty’s arm.

She screeched and tried to pull back. “Let go of me!”

“Don’t you dare touch her.” Before he could think, Jughead saw nothing but red as blood from the man’s now broken nose gushed onto his hand.

* * *

_  
Betty - March 1912 _

Veronica took Betty’s hand and pulled her outside where the other girls were waiting before the man could retaliate. Inside: glasses shattered, wood flew, anger bounced around the walls making the men drunk with testosterone. The fight ended quickly when a pop rang out from an off duty deputy’s service pistol. Quickly, the drunken mob who had began the brawl scattered.

Jughead stumbled outside. His lip was split and his hands were bruised and bleeding, but nothing else seemed too out of place. She ran quickly to his side, pulling out her handkerchief and pulling him down to sit. Betty worked quickly to get him cleaned up, using a bit of alcohol she asked to borrow from Mr. Tate to clean his wounds. He hissed when she pressed the soaked rag to his hands. After a bit of fussing, he relented and sat patiently while she kept to her busy work.

Neither of them spoke. Words left unsaid and the weight of a bar fight made their shoulders heavy and the air thick. He tried to swallow but even that left his throat feeling dryer than before.

“Betty,” his voice cracked and nothing else dared to come out.

Nevertheless, she understood him, taking his hands in hers. The ache of his bruised bones didn’t bother him when she was sitting so close. Betty didn’t dare wait, not anymore, not after tonight. She tilted her head up and kissed her. Their lips met with electricity, a spark - a promise - of something beautiful. The brevity did not spare her quickly beating heart.

“Juggie I-”

“Don’t,” he shook his head, “I know what you’re going to say and don’t. Betty Cooper, I love you, but you deserve a man who knows where he’s going in life. I don’t know if the circus is where I want to be for the rest of my life. I don’t know if this is a life I can live anymore. And I want to give you someone who knows what they want. It’s what you deserve.”

Betty reached out and brushed the hair from his eyes, a sad smile on her lips. “Don’t make me wait too long, Juggie? Sometimes I’m not very patient.”

**Author's Note:**

> as always, follow me on tumblr @tory-b (my inbox is always open)


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